Chipped
by vodka straight
Summary: "He doesn't sound agitated like usual, though. He doesn't sound annoyed. He sounds like he's laughing. He doesn't laugh much." Luke and Lorelei wake up beside each other.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Chipped  
  
"Open your eyes, Lorelei."  
  
But I can't. Well, I just ... I don't want to.   
  
"Open your eyes."   
  
"No."  
  
"Lorelei, you're not twelve. Come on. Wake up."   
  
He doesn't sound agitated like usual, though. He doesn't sound annoyed. He sounds like he's laughing. He doesn't laugh much.   
  
"What will you give me?" I ask.   
  
"How about this."   
  
He's sheepish in this sentence, which is somewhat unorthodox for him. I can hear the strange effort in his voice as he says it, and it's attractive and terrifying at the same time. I want to open my eyes and tell him he doesn't have to do this, he doesn't have to try--  
  
I can feel his lips against mine, and his mouth opens, and his tongue skims my mouth and leaves, and the warm, wet, pressurized-and-packaged-for-my-convenience memory of last night returns in the heat of his mouth.   
  
"That won't do it." I say, and I laugh, because I learned a long time ago that scary things seem less so when seen through laughter.  
  
"Well, what do you want from me? I've got coffee."   
  
My eyes open. They are met by his, and I want to cry. But instead, I laugh again. "Hey." I say.  
  
"Hey." Luke says back. He looks down briefly, watching the bed linen. "So, what the hell was that, would you say?"  
  
"I don't know."   
  
From my new vantage point (really, a vantage point) I'm on the bed, laying flat on my back. He's sitting next to me on the mattress, on top of the covers where as I am underneath. He's still wearing the boxers and t-shirt he put on last night. No baseball cap. His hair is tousled and unkempt and lovely and warm, and his face is red-ish and glowing from sleeping. With his plain blue t-shirt and unsure half-smile, he looks like a little boy.   
  
"You're beautiful." I say in a little girl voice, smiling. "Where's the coffee?"  
  
Even more red rushes to Luke's face with my comment; I don't think he's ever been with a woman that calls him beautiful. Not many men have, I'm proud to say.   
  
"Uh, the coffee's right here." He says, after a short recovery.   
  
"Bring it on." I say, holding out both hands.   
  
"Does Rory know you're here?" he asks tentatively, pouring a mug that isn't a diner mug; it's one from his own cupboard. It's chipped on the lip. I can see the white clay underneath the dark blue glaze of the paint. I like it.  
  
"Nope." I say. He hands me the mug full of coffee, and I rub my finger over the little chip. When I look up he's staring at my hand.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks.  
  
"I like this mug."  
  
"It's chipped."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I've been meaning to buy a new one."  
  
"Don't."   
  
He smiled slightly at me. "Okay. Where does Rory think you are?"  
  
"Last night I told her that I was helping Sookie with the baby, and that I might be there a while. What time is it?"  
  
"Almost ten."  
  
"Damn; she'll be calling Sookie's by now. I should go." I say, but I make no move to leave.  
  
"Why don't you just call her." Luke suggests, handing me the cordless phone. "I made breakfast."  
  
Luke starts to get up, but I grab the front of his shirt on impulse and pull him into my somewhat sloppy kiss, then release him.   
  
He laughs out loud and almost falls off the bed, leaving the room wiping his lips on the back of his wrist and smirking. I smile. I love surprising him. I love ... crossing borders with him. Suddenly, I've got all the time and reason in world to keep on surprising him, keep on seeing that laugh-out-loud change in his eyes when he realizes that he's never really known me before this second. I feel a swell of irrational happiness as I dial my house and listen to the ring.   
  
"Hi, this is Lorelei. Please explain in a four word sentence how the war of 1812 influences today's garbage bag industry."  
  
I sigh into my own answering machine, annoyed by my own voice and a reception that oh so many weeks ago I had thought clever. "Hey, Ror, it's me. I'm on my way home, don't freak out. I think I'll stop at Luke's for some breakfast. See you soon."  
  
I hang up, feeling without closure and covered with inadequacy. I hope this isn't parental neglect caused by crazed nymphomania.   
  
"Di'ja get her?" Luke called.  
  
"Oh, no. She's ... probably with Lane or something."  
  
"Oh, alright." He says, handing me a plate with eggs, three pancakes, and a slice of orange. "It's okay; I figured it'd just be garnish." He says, when I look at the orange with a somewhat unsure expression.  
  
I look up and realize that Luke's plate is not much different. Same eggs, only one fewer pancake and a few extra orange slices.  
  
"I'm converting you already."  
  
Luke looked confused and then smiled slightly, tipped his head and half-nodded. "Special occasion."  
  
He said it like a question. I look down.  
  
"So, do we want to talk about what this was?" he asks on an exhale, before taking a sip of his own coffee. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time and suddenly reminds me frighteningly of my father ... or my mother, I don't know which ... with those two expectant eyes staring at me shamelessly over the rim of his drink, as though he's just righteous. I blink and the sensation is gone, and it's just Luke with a cup of coffee and a lot of misapprehension.  
  
I rub the chip on my coffee mug with my finger and watch the food on my plate. It looks too put together to eat, I think. If I took something off the plate, it would look like I'd broken it somehow. And the chip in the rim of my mug is feeling as though I can swim in it, if I like.  
  
"Lorelei, I need to know if this was a mistake to you." He says slowly, in that pleasantly sure, almost punky, matter-of-fact way in which he says almost everything. I can feel him looking at my eyes even though I'm not looking at his.  
  
I know right away that my answer is no. I also know that if this isn't a mistake, than it's a decision, and I don't know that I'm ready for that. So I hesitate. The hesitation is always the fatal flaw.   
  
Luke looks at me as if I am the most amazing, painful thing he's ever seen, as if I hold everything that matters in my hands and I just chose to throw it against a wall. For a long moment I can't move, and then he looks down at his cup of coffee.   
  
"Oh, okay, well. You'd better get your stuff and go, then." He said, getting up off the bed and taking his plate with him, seeming slightly flustered but determined. "You don't have to sit through breakfast, or I can go downstairs and make you something to go." He said, setting his plate in his sink, everything still on it but a few orange slices.   
  
I cover my eyes with my hand. I don't know what I can say that will be true, efficient, necessary, intelligent, understanding ... true. I don't know what's true. I just know that I can't stand the idea of hurting him, and that's got to count for something.  
  
"Luke ..." I begin, in that way that's just begging to be cut off, but he doesn't cut me off, and I don't know what else to say. "Gee, I kind of hoped you'd cut me off, there." I say lightly.  
  
"With what, Lorelei?" he asks sharply. "There's not much left to say."  
  
I don't believe that for a moment. There're a thousand things to say. I just can't say them, so he's got to. "Luke, this ... this shouldn't hurt, you know?" I say, and right away I feel how insensitive it was. Jesus, how long has it been since I dealt with a one-night stand?  
  
"How should this not hurt?" he asked me angrily, still facing the sink, slamming his coffee cup down with incredible force. There was a breaking sound with the climax of his movement and from my angle I could just barely tell that the handle had broken off the mug. "Fuck!" Luke exclaimed, jerking suddenly once spasmodically and looking own at his hand.  
  
"Did you cut yourself?" I say, hating myself for feeling the Emily in me jump out. I slide off the bed and rush over to the sink, where Luke has turned on the water and has his hand under it. There is a dark, long, streaming cut down the outside of the thumb of his right hand, and a small bit of blood on the exposed clay of the broken mug.   
  
"I'm okay." He mutters quickly before I ask, washing it out, and I have to stand back because I honestly only have the slightest idea of what to do with a serious cut, and I was sure he knew better than me. I stood back and watched from about ten feet away. He stood silently at the sink and washed it out for a while, and then took a paper towel and applied pressure to it until it stopped bleeding.   
  
"What I mean is that -" I began, feeling inappropriate and useless, standing here, practically wringing my hands and stamping my feet with awkwardness and ill belonging. " - this did mean something to me, Luke. I didn't mean to make it sound like it did. I just don't know what this is coming to. I know you're not open to a serious relationship-"  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"You said that!"   
  
I feel the protective anger bubble in me, that anger that's been waiting for a reason to be the defender instead of the aggressor, to have something to be right about.  
  
"I know I did." He muttered, looking away. "But maybe I-I don't know. Changed my mind."  
  
"Luke-" I begin the way I did before, and this time he does cut me off.  
  
"I thought that was something, didn't you? I mean I - I felt something there. It felt like something different. Something good different, you know?"   
  
I'm terrified when I feel a sudden prickling heat scorch my eyeballs, see the world blur for a moment. "Yeah, I do." I agree quietly, because saying much more would be a mistake. There is a moment where he looks at me with silent incredulity.   
  
"Good." he suddenly says. "See, that's-uh, that's good communication."  
  
"Yeah it is."  
  
"I guess the question now, is, uh, do you want to do this." He asks.  
  
This is it, ladies and gents, the question we've all been waiting for. Thank god I know my answer.  
  
"Do you?" I ask. "I missed that question."   
  
He looks up at me, unblinking and sure for the first time I've seen him. Perhaps he's not the only one who's going to be surprised.   
  
"Yeah, I do." He says.  
  
There's a short pause. I play with the chip on the coffee mug. Luke stuffs an orange slice in his mouth and chews rigorously, not meeting my eyes. When he finally does look up it is at the coffee cup I'm holding.  
  
"You haven't drunk any coffee." He comments. "I thought that was only reason you opened your eyes."  
  
"No. There were other reasons that I did that." I promise quietly, and the sudden lightening and lifting of his features tells me that he understands.  
  
There is something there in his face. Something that seems halfway between panic and affection.   
  
"Lorelei-"  
  
"I need to know if this was a mistake to you."   
  
He looks at me for a moment, that wonderful look of surprise flashing suddenly in his pale green eyes, and his face and his body seems so blunt, so basic and so honest. As if he were offering himself.   
  
"No. It was something I've been wanting for a long time." He says.   
  
I smile quietly at him. "Me too."   
  
"You too?" he asks, and I am reminded of so many high school boys. I laugh.   
  
"Yeah, me too."  
  
He kisses me then, and I can feel it when his eye lashes close against my cheek. And I feel the hot waves of last night light on me. He kisses me and maybe everything is good. And everything is.   
  
There's a loud banging on the door of Luke's apartment. Luke leans out and looks through into the next room.   
  
"Who?" I think out loud.  
  
"I don't know. Hey, go ahead and finish your breakfast, I'll take care of it."  
  
Luke leaves me in the bedroom, but the bedroom has jut about a straight shot to the front door unless you're actually on the bed, or behind it. I stand where I am, waiting to see who it is.   
  
Luke opens the door to a pretty, pale, slightly frightened eighteen year old who is my daughter, and whose fair blue eyes lock on me immediately.   
  
"Mom!" she breathes, before Luke can even get a word out. Luke looks at me so quickly it seems like he's been slapped. Over the course of the morning he had managed to put a pair of pants on over his boxers; I, on the other hand... I look down at myself, having temporarily forgotten what I am wearing. It's turns out I've got on a large brown t-shirt with a gas station motif that Luke gave me last night, and that's all.   
  
"What are you ... oh, god, Mom!" Rory screams, nearly in disgust.  
  
Luke is looking petrified in place, staring at me. Everyone seems to be staring at me, and I can't move. I don't even know what I think, much less am I attempting to tap into what my daughter must be thinking.   
  
Finally, Rory kind of stumbles back and runs down the stairs back to the diner. A few moment's later, I hear the front door ring and slam.   
  
I look at Luke, feeling a mixture of annoyance and apology, although he certainly could have been a lot more help. I grab the jeans I had on last night and hobble out the door, putting them on as I go, forgetting the idea of changing tops.   
  
"Do you want me to-"  
  
"No!" I call back to Luke, who is trying to be helpful but has actually ruined my life.   
  
I run down the stairs and out the diner door with Patty, Kirk, Caesar and a few other people I don't recognize staring at me and my choice in apparel. The whole town will know by four this afternoon. I can't think of that right now, though.  
  
Outside I can see the distraught hour glass figure of my daughter going around the corner, her hands in the pockets of her coat, watching her feet, but walking in a strange kind of tripping, fluttering jog.   
  
"Rory!" I yell, immediately regretting it, as she picks up her pace and disappears behind the corner. I run, clutching my arms with my hands against the cold and trying to beat what I think had been her pace.   
  
Apparently I did alright, because when I get around the corner she's only a few strides in front of me.   
  
"Rory-" I say, grabbing her arm, but she snaps her elbow out of my grip without looking up from the ground and keeps walking. "Rory, what do you think you're doing?" I ask, jogging a little to get in front of her. "You live with me. I'm your mother."  
  
She stops suddenly and looks at me disgustedly. "How could you?"  
  
"Honey-"  
  
"And-and more than that ... how could you not tell me? Why did you think you couldn't tell me? You're sleeping with Luke. I can deal with that. I can deal with ..." she trailed off tightly.   
  
"It's not that easy, baby." I say softly, smoothing her hair away from her face. "I would have told you, you know I would have. But I-I don't know that I knew about this one myself before last night."  
  
"Are you dating him?" she asks me. I sigh and smile tightly.   
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Did you use a condom?"   
  
I almost get the wind knocked out of me. "That is none of your business!" I exclaim.  
  
"I'm just saying-"  
  
"We were safe, Rory, I don't need sex-ed from my eighteen year old." But I can't help but laugh a little. I don't know if it's defense laughter, or real laughter, but I pretend that it doesn't matter.  
  
"You didn't call me. I freaked."  
  
I half smile apologetically. The last thing I want to do is frighten Rory. Something that I pride myself on-one of the best things about me-is my love for this girl. It's so easy for me to say that in comparison to her, men are nothing. It's the truest thing in the world. If it meant a better world for my daughter, I would be celibate and dateless for the rest of my life. "I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"I left a message on our machine. I think it's time to change the reception on that thing. I'm sure everyone's heard it by now."  
  
"Yeah, I guess." She mutters, but I can tell her heart isn't in it.  
  
"Honey, you've got to tell me what the problem is so I can fix it." I breathe, slightly irked. She's keeping something from me, she's hiding something from me and it hurts as much as it annoys.   
  
"No problem. I'm just - just trying to get my head around this."  
  
"Well, it's a good head, don't stretch it." I say, putting my arm around her, hoping against hope that she wouldn't recoil. She didn't, and I breathed again. "'Doesn't make you uncomfortable, does it?"  
  
"No, not really. I've been kind of waiting for it to happen." She looks straight ahead and smiles secretly, knowing that I'm watching her. "Placing my bets." She adds.  
  
I exhale sharply in condescending disbelief. "You liar."  
  
"Cross my heart."  
  
"Yeah, well, next task; telling Emily."  
  
"That's on you, friend." She says, which I know isn't true, but it doesn't matter. Everything was us. The two of us.  
  
"Deserter."  
  
We were almost to the front steps of the house now, and as we draw a little nearer, I see something lying on my porch steps.  
  
"What is that?" I ask. Rory walks over to it and picks it up.  
  
"It's a present. Wrapped in newspaper." She says, examining it. "Looks like a coffee mug."   
  
The center of my chest tightens pleasantly.   
  
"The note's addressed to you." She says, smiling.  
  
I take the note; it's a plain piece of folded paper, and opening it I read the short message carefully.  
  
Well, it's not like I've got any use for it. Love, Luke  
  
Somehow, it is the most romantic thing I've ever read.  
  
"Mom-" Rory began, holding up the blue coffee mug before her, having shed the front page of yesterday's newspaper. "Mom, it's chipped."  
  
The End   
  
Until further notice 


	2. the next part of the story

I settle down on the couch Indian-style, take the cradle of the telephone and set it down on my lap; It's almost nine, but I figure Luke won't mind. I'm already in pajama pants and a tank top, and I'm remembering suddenly and pleasantly how much I love this feeling. Of having somebody, really having them, and of them having you. It's amazing how many "boyfriends" a girl like me can go through and have never really had, or belonged to any of them. I remember when I had Max. And now, I know it, I have Luke. And he has me. And I love the feeling of being warm and comfortable on my couch with my telephone and my pajama pants and having somebody.  
  
I dial and the phone rings in my ear twice.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi." I say coyly.  
  
"Oh, hi."   
  
I also love how I can actually hear him smile, even over the phone.   
  
"Hi, Coffee Mug."   
  
"What?"  
  
"Guess what I'm doing."  
  
"Drinking coffee."  
  
I gasp dramatically. "How did you know? Guess what I'm drinking it out of?"  
  
"A chipped blue coffee mug."  
  
I am about to retort with a quick and humorous witticism, but am suddenly struck by something really nice about him saying that.   
  
"That's right." I say shortly.  
  
He laughs softly, and the shivery, glowy sound of it travels all the way across town to my ear.  
  
"That was a really sweet thing, Luke." I say quietly.  
  
"Well, don't expect too much else, I'm all sweeted out until at least next week."  
  
"How did you get to my house before me, Speedy Gonzalez?"  
  
"Never call me that again, and I used my car. You and Rory took longer than I expected, at the rate you set out at. Hey, I'm sorry if I kind of froze up, there, I-"  
  
"It's fine. I was just upset, I'm sorry I snapped."  
  
"What happened with Rory?"  
  
"Oh, we walked, we talked, we had a little Gilmore moment, I uh ..."  
  
I watch as Rory sticks her head around the doorway from the kitchen. I shrug at her, and she comes into the living room and takes the phone from me.   
  
"Hey, Luke."   
  
"Hey! Hand it over!" I exclaim, but make no move to wrestle the phone back. I figure this is as good a way as any.  
  
  
  
"No, I'm good with it. She's dated weirder guys, I'll tell you that." She say's lightly into the receiver, and I slam her with a couch pillow. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast. Here she is."  
  
She hands the phone out to me.   
  
"We're good."  
  
"Oh, yeah, you're like this." I say, holding up my hand index finger twisted around my middle finger in a "cross your fingers" kind of motion.  
  
"You're down with the lingo, Mom." She says dryly, letting me take the phone and walking around the couch and out of the room.  
  
"Shizel my Nizel, baby." I call after her half-heartedly. I put the phone up to me ear.  
  
"Did you just say 'shizel my nizel'?"  
  
"Why, yes I did, sir, my I have another?" I snap, in my favorite old-English accent.  
  
There is a sigh over the line and a kind of accepting groan.  
  
"Just making sure."  
  
As soon as the door to the diner opens I know things are different. I can smell it, I can feel it, everything is different. And, in his own words, good different. I always liked going to Luke's in the morning, but this ... this has the potential for rendezvous, for romance ... maybe even for a kiss. Who knows. The possibilities seem endless as the door rings shut behind me. I see him behind the counter, and his eyes flit up quickly to meet mine, and the change is delicate; barely noticeable, but there is a change in him. His lips tick softly to one corner, and his eyes glance downward cutely for a moment and then bounce back to the customer he's talking to. I'm barely within earshot here, but as I take a step I can hear his conversation with the woman in front of the counter:  
  
"Uh-could you repeat that, you lost me for a second ..."  
  
I feel that tight smile find my face and I watch the ground like a seventh grader who's over heard her crush gushing about her. I feel Rory prod me in the back and I prod back, blindly and dismissively.   
  
We sit down at our normal table, and I feel Rory's smiling eyes on me.  
  
"Someone's got a crush." She muttered.  
  
"Mm hm, someone also has a beautiful olive complexion, but what do you notice?" I snap playfully, and Rory smirks and suddenly looks up to someone behind me. "Why, I feel this terrible urge to throw myself onto the tall, dark, handsome man behind me, whomever he may be!" I begin, turning in my seat. Luke looks down at me with something between disgust and affection.  
  
"So, what'll it be." He asks, but there's a strange anomaly happening within the region of his face...  
  
"Luke, you've got something on your face- it's a smile!" Rory exclaims in faux excitement.   
  
"Cute." He says blandly, but his face rushes red and with his attempt to erase his grin, it only widens. I'm afraid my olive complexion may be climbing to rose.   
  
"I can't stand the tension!" I exclaim, standing up to face Luke straight on.   
  
"What?" he asks, apprehensive and confused.   
  
"I have a confession to make." I state. "I, Lorelei Gilmore, have a crush on you."   
  
Rory gives the appropriate silent-movie gasp from behind me. Luke just looks completely without a plan of action.   
  
"I knew it!"   
  
The sing-songy voice rose suddenly and wildly from behind Luke. Miss Patty flew to a standing position behind her table, wearing a purple velvet drape and large hanging rhinestone earrings that brushed and chinked against her lilac shoulders, her vivid scarlet lipstick bleeding with color and wetness.  
  
"I knew it, I knew it, you two! Finally!" she exclaimed, raising her arms as though she were preaching to the diner of Caesar and Rosa and four unsuspecting strangers. "I just want you to know, I think this is wonderful!" she said, heading for the door.  
  
"Hey, you've got to pay your check." Luke insists as she nears the exit.  
  
"Oh, it's alright dear, I didn't touch it; you can just give it to the next costumer who wants a cheese melt." She assures him as the door claps shut behind her.  
  
There's a moment of silence between the three of us, and then I snort a laugh. Luke looks at me with pure affection and says, "Do you want that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Her cheese melt."  
  
"Are you paying?"  
  
He smiles dryly. "Sure."  
  
"Bring on the cheese, lover." I say streamily.   
  
He sighs dryly and half-smiles as he picks up the plate. Next to me, Rory grabs her backpack and stands.  
  
"I got to go, Mom." She says.  
  
"Okay, I love you."  
  
"Love you too." She calls, darting out the front door.   
  
"Now we are alone, mone'mi," I say leaning across the table toward Luke as Caesar gives us a sideways glance.   
  
"Lorelei ..." Luke murmurs, glancing around and looking embarrassed but pleased.   
  
"Come on, like you've never made sweet sweet love on your own diner table." I tease.  
  
"Not with Caesar in the room ..." he says, watching the door and trailing off. It takes a moment for him to realize what he'd said. My jaw drops.  
  
"Luke!" I whisper harshly, trying not to laugh. "You're kidding!"   
  
"Shh, shh, keep it down!" he exclaimed, but I'm already starting to crack up.  
  
"You naughty, naughty boy!" I exclaim. "We've got to clear some time for that!"  
  
"Lorelei!" he exclaims, but he was laughing too.  
  
"Not to mention a table!"  
  
"Lorelei!"   
  
"What do you think, I can pencil you in between my Brad Pitt at eleven and my Tom Cruise at twelve thirty ..."  
  
"Lorelei."   
  
"Sometimes I wonder about the extent of your vocabulary."  
  
"Lorelei-"  
  
"Maybe it only consists of the world 'Lorelei', said over and over again in a tone according to your mood."   
  
He laughs because he realizes he can't say what he was about to say-or at least he couldn't begin it with the same word.   
  
"I want to kiss you, you know." He says instead.   
  
"Oh, scandalous, Caesar's watching." I giggle.   
  
"Come here." He leans across the table and kisses me, lips only, but pleasantly soft and wet. "I have a really important question to ask you, Lorelei." He says. I look at him curiously and lean back.   
  
"Hm?" I ask calmly. He looks down.   
  
"It's something only you can answer, I think. Something only you should be able to answer."  
  
My curiousity is spiking strangely, possibly into anticipation.   
  
"What?"   
  
Luke looked down as if thinking. "Lorelei, I was wondering if I need a shave."   
  
There's a pause where I'm stringing this sentence together, and then my jaw drops.  
  
"You jackass!" I almost yell, shoving him softly on the shoulder. He laughs that laugh as I realize that he's doing it. He's surprising me just the way I thought I'd be surprising him.  
  
This is going to be wonderful, I think. 


End file.
